The Case of the Incredibly Dark Minds
by Elizabeth Bower
Summary: An old foe has raised his ugly head on the Disc yet again, and it's up to Sam Vimes, now in his mid-fifties, to save the Disc yet again from wrongdoers. Set almost everywhere on the Disc (especially the Circle Sea), this humorous mystery will balance serious crimes with situational irony and puns. So enjoy Vimes as he takes over the role of Sherlock Holmes on the Disc!
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer/AN:**** I do not own either Sherlock Holmes or Discworld, all credit for characters is given to Sir Terry Pratchett and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Now, I realize that this fan-fic will be mostly on the Disc, however, my use of a certain extreme villain will pull in the forces of Watchmen from around the Disc. Characters I couldn't include in the main description of this include: 71-Hour Ahmed, Vetinari, Chrysophrase, Rincewind, The Luggage, Ridcully, The Witches (mostly Granny, of course), Detritus, Angua, Sally, Carrot, and Miss Edana Fortuna (the head of the Watch in Genua...she's an OC, alright?). So, enjoy your extreme villain in the Discworld. Read and review?  
**

"_Bloody hellfire!"_

_Why me?_

It was a classic question, one which Rincewind, now nearing _probably_ sixty years old*, had no idea how to answer. Someone had just come roaring out of the sky at something approaching firespeed**, and plowed him into the ground and made a furrow along the neat lawn of some Agatean nobleman.

And all he could think about, besides the ever-present longing for potatoes and for this to be happening to someone else, was the bill the nobleman would have to pay to have this lawn fixed. Sometimes, his own mind surprised him.

"Ah, Rincewind! It's been a long time! Nearly...gods, forty years?"

Whatever thoughts about who had just plowed into him vanished from Rincewind's mind. Actually, all thoughts ground to a halt, except one, which smirked and then spoke.

_Well, I didn't expect to hear that voice again._

Rincewind smothered it quickly. The man had grown grayer, certainly, but now he resembled the current Patrician of Ankh-Morpork...silvering hair, but the eyes and face hadn't changed much in forty years. Just tiny lines where Age had started to ply her craft, and then been frightened off by the eyes.

And like the Patrician, he had a way of staring that made you speak, because he knew that you knew that you knew some information he wanted.

"Oh...er, yes. Er...thirty-four, I think..." Rincewind stammered, trying not to look at the smoldering brown eyes.

"Forty-two, Rincewind!" James replied cheerfully, his sword-cane being picked up from the ground in a neat movement that conveyed that he was neither concerned about turning his back on this wizard, nor was he particularly afraid of anyone, or anything, at all.

"Where are we, Rincewind? Haven't been on the Disc for forty-two years," James asked, looking around the lawn and shaking his head, as if despairing of the style.

_He probably is, too,_ Rincewind thought dryly, but shut the thought up and away, in case the man heard what he was thinking.

"Er...the Agatean Empire, I think...Did you have plans, James?"

The other man looked up, and scowled at Rincewind briefly. "Now Rincewind, none of that James nonsense...I am a professor at the University, or at least I used to be...they didn't take my title, did they?"

"Last I heard, Professor, they kept your title...Of course, the Archancellor hasn't checked yet," Rincewind replied as quickly as he could. You didn't lie to this man...unless you had a death-wish, which Rincewind could safely say he did not have.

"Good...be about your running, Rincewind, I can see you have been running much these last four decades. Enjoy your day, Rincewind," the professor said, dismissing the other Wizard with a wave of his hand. Rincewind nodded once, looked for the Luggage, then started to run Turnwise at great speed, deciding that he wanted to be in the Unseen University for these latest developments...

_Besides...Lord Vetinari will throw me in that scorpion pit of his if I don't warn him..._

The Professor of Magical Observation and Deduction watched him go with a small, gleeful smile. Yes...on the Roundworld, he had had to act so...professional, so _uptight_. Oh, but here he could be himself! He could be as insane, as malicious, as evil as he liked! And that young Watchman, that young _Vimes..._He would be a mature man by now, married most likely. He looked forward to encountering the man's wheedling mind and sense of justice...

Professor James Moriarty smiled. His return would not go unnoticed...not by even _one_ of the Disc's most powerful rulers. And he might as well make a start here, in the Agatean Empire...

*Rincewind hadn't counted his birthdays since that first adventure with Twoflower. Rather, he counted the number of years he had lived _since_ then, but on that island he had completely forgotten how many he was at...and he didn't remember the age he had been before the whole business with a tourist, so it didn't seem to matter anyway.

**Firespeed, noun: The speed at which things will catch fire. When it comes to clothes, unfortunately, they tend to reach that speed somewhat faster than their wearers. It's not a pleasant thing to jump out of a snowdrift, smoking, with no gloves or parka left to keep you warm.

**Guys, I'm very sorry that I haven't updated. My grandfather died October 2nd, and so my plans for updates went to the four corners of the earth. I will update before the end of this month, even if it's pathetic...as it is, this story was started long before that happened, and I meant to get it up for ages...**


	2. Chapter 1: A Day Gone Wrong

**A/N: Alright, so...I know Vetinari and Vimes act a bit differently then you expect of them, but...try to think of it as creative license. Or, you could also imagine that by the time they are in their mid to late fifties, maybe they are almost friends. That's the way I'm putting it in my head. Also, I will randomly insert Moriarty stuff between Vimes/good guy chapters, so be prepared for some insights into a very twisted mind. Oh, I nearly forgot: The chapters for this will probably be on the short side, but there will propably be a lot of them, so this might get updated faster than my other stories.  
**

**Chapter 1: A Day Gone Wrong**

Once every three months or so, there came a Perfect Day. Sometimes it came after a one-month case, a long murder case usually. Sometimes, it happened after only a couple of weeks, or only one. But, unless that bastard in the Palace had anything to say about it, it happened about four times a year.

Today had been a Perfect Day. No crimes had gone on, that the Watch knew about, anyway, other than the usual meeting with Vetinari Vimes hadn't been called to the Palace, no assassination attempts on anyone (which fell under part one, but Vimes considered assassination of the illegal sort special), and no foreign dignitaries to impress or any balls or dances to attend.

Today had been good...

Unfortunately, a Perfect Day has to be interrupted at one of two points: The first, it's beginning. The second, it's end.

And so, as Vimes trudged up the Palace steps, the midnight rain pouring down on his face and back and slithering under the chain-mail, he wondered why Vetinari had had to ruin his Perfect Day at such a late hour...or maybe it was early?

He'd been given time to shave, which was good, but Vimes knew that anything that made Vetinari call him to the Palace at such a late hour boded ill anyway.

Lighting a cigar, he snorted, then took a long drag. Forget Vetinari's polite wish that he not smoke in the Office, he had called Vimes out at this ungodly hour, and so Vimes would show some slight discourtesy back.

"Commander Vimes? The Patrician will see you now," Drumknott said quietly, his voice carrying uncomfortably in the silent Palace. "And he asks that you put out the light...he isn't in a mood to deal with that now, Commander," he added warily, and watched Vimes grunt and put it out, then tuck it behind his ear. Drumknott nodded once, then showed him into the Oblong Office.

The Office was mostly dark, but that didn't bother the two current occupants. Vetinari turned from the window, his usually almost friendly eyes dark and angry.

Vimes eyed him almost nervously, his weight shifting from his usual angry pose to one that was more respectful.

"Vimes, do you recall a wizard named Rincewind?" Vetinari said quietly, not turning to Vimes again. His eyes were locked on the Tower of Art, and Vimes moved respectfully closer, uneasily following his gaze.

"Yessir...bit of a failure as I recall. Became leader of the Red Army in the Agatean Empire because he wanted to become a real wizard, right?"

Vetinari's lips twitched, just a little at the corners, and he raised an eyebrow. Vimes held back a grin, settling for a smile. "I have my own spies and friends, Sir."

"Quite, Vimes," Vetinari replied, and Vimes watched a small smile of genuine amusement curl the lips briefly before the taller man sighed and limped over to his desk, lighting a candle. Vimes drew in a sharp breath, his eyes refusing to adjust for a moment. And then the light was out, and Vimes looked his boss over, when the colored dots faded from his vision.

"Sir? It's quite early, I'd like to get back to Sybil," Vimes grunted, but it was more polite than his usual grumbling.

Vetinari eyed him for a moment, then sighed and passed him what looked like a hastily written letter. "Rincewind was wandering in the Agatean Empire and apparently had a mysterious man slam into him at something approaching firespeed, Vimes. Upon inspection, Rincewind found his name to be-"

"-_Moriarty._"

Vimes spat the name out like it was venom, and Vetinari watched one lip twitch in anger and disgust. "How long ago was it that this report was sent?" Vimes barked, and remembered who he was speaking to in time to cut off the curious eyebrow. "-_sir._ How long ago was this sent, sir?" Vimes tried again, and at Vetinari's tiny nod, calmed a bit.

"About a month ago, Commander. No, I do not know where he is now...I wish I did. My contacts in the Empire tell me nothing of his activities, but my contacts there have slowly been shrinking in number for the last month and a half. I suspect it took Mister Rincewind about fifteen days to work up the courage to go into a city again," Vetinari replied, cutting off Vimes' interruption. Vimes cursed, getting him an eyebrow from Vetinari that remained as he tried to figure out what he had done.

"Sorry, sir. I've been awaiting his arrival for the last twenty or so years."

Vetinari nodded, looking Vimes over. In the nearly thirty years they had worked together, Vetinari had privately noted the slightest gain of weight that came as Vimes became older in his position as Duke of Ankh. But he also saw the fire in Vimes' soul, and saw the white around his knuckles. He had to focus to keep a smile from his lips. They were getting too old for this, really. But neither could stop even if they wanted to. And how they both wanted to...Vetinari wished to retire sometime, perhaps to his estate, perhaps somewhere less obvious. The quiet of a vacation where no one wanted him dead because of his position.

Vetinari looked at Vimes again. "I wanted you to know that I want the investigation to begin tomorrow...I won't send you to Agatea, I would like my diplomatic status to stay level there for now. But I want you to find what you can on Moriarty again, go over it all, maybe send me some notes...my libraries are open to you."

Vimes snorted. "But not my less-educated men, right sir?" he grunted. Vetinari held back a smile.

"I would like my library to survive and remain _intact_, Vimes. I will allow Sergeant Angua, Constable von Humpeding, and Sergeant Littlebottom to accompany you tomorrow morning, when one of my Clerks can be...will be awake."

Vimes barely held back a laugh. The idea of Vetinari using the word 'rousted' seemed to fit, though Vetinari obviously did not think so. Of course, Vetinari had shown Vimes some impressive things in these last two or three years, them being the reasons that they were now relatively decent friends, with the occasional master to servant relationship.

"Understood, sir."

* * *

Vetinari paused as he heard the door creak open slightly. He turned from the window to give the young woman a bright smile.

And she was not only young, but what he had heard other men describe as ravishingly beautiful. He'd met very few noblewomen who were as beautiful as Elena de Worde. Very few women at all, really, discounting vampires.

"You called me, my Lord?"

Vetinari looked the young lady over again, noting the cut on her arm and bite-scar on her stomach. She wore a workman's clothes in general, though tonight she had been called from just after an assignment. She was wearing extremely form-fitting silks, but they made no sound when she walked. Her rather revealing clothes had been quickly but effectively hidden beneath her also usual navy blue cloak, though her long black hair had been pulled into a tight pony-tail. Her arms were bare, the left one bleeding from what appeared to be a knife wound, but he decided it prudent not to comment upon it at this time.

"Good morning, Miss de Worde," he replied, offering her a seat. She nodded, sinking gratefully into the offered chair. Unlike most people, including some of his other Dark Clerks, Elena chose to look directly at him, her emerald gaze seldom wavering from him. Except on the rare occasions when he was angry, at which point she seemed to shrink away, like Mr. Slant near an open flame.

He noted that she was fidgeting, and wondered if he appeared annoyed or angry to her. Perhaps he was. He easily separated himself from the annoyance and gave her a friendly smile, since when Elena got jumpy, she got rather pitiable. A carry-over from her days in Lord de Worde's household. An unfair carry-over, he felt.

"Yes Ms. de Worde. How was your trip from Agatea?"

"Fine, sir. Just fine. A bit...exciting, but that's slavers for you."

Vetinari let a lightning-smile grace his lips. Ah yes...Elena de Worde had impressive fighting skills, generally in the range of most Assassins, but mostly outside of it. Excellent reflexes.

"Has Rincewind started back here to the city, Miss de Worde?"

"Yes, sir. Last I saw, he was going to try and run the land-way. Through the Hublands. Apparently he decided it was scarier to have me following him than to just come back."

Vetinari thought this over. Elena was one of his best stealth agents, but she was also a great Assassin, and an excellent person for intimidation. She didn't have her brother's haughtiness, she instead had inherited her father's confidence (in most areas), and her brother's insistence that truth be found. But she preferred to _do_ something about the world, and so had come to him...

...The despotic tyrant who had been known to have to ignore the truth to secure relations or stability.

"Ah. I can see his viewpoint. Do take care of that cut, Miss de Worde, your brother will insist on an interview otherwise," he added.

"Yes, sir. Sir...could I take a few days off? I promise I shall assist Commander Vimes, but...I would like to spend a few days with my brother, and my sister-in-law. I haven't really seen my brother in nearly a year."

Vetinari noted that she had hurried the sentence, and was fidgeting again. Lord de Worde had been a cruel man...While he had never done anything physical to his children, he had done far worse in many ways. It did make a part of him very angry that a man who called himself a pillar of the community could be so cruel to his own children.

"Of course, Miss de Worde. I'm sure your brother will appreciate it, after his customary argument about your job," he said, giving her a reassuring smile. She returned it nervously, but she had calmed considerably.

As she left the room, Vetinari sighed, and limped back to his window, overlooking his city. You could only do so much paperwork before you had to look at something else.

"She's a bit of a handful, isn't she, my Lord?"

Vetinari turned and looked at his secretary.

"Miss de Worde is a good Clerk, is she not?"

"Well, yes my Lord, but...she takes a bit too much pleasure in it, for my tastes."

"Why, Drumknott, are you being critical? Miss de Worde has had a rough, I might even say troubled, life. If she enjoys her work, it is no worse than a talented Assassin enjoying theirs. Indeed, it is almost exactly the same, is it not?" Vetinari said, innocently faking confusion and worry.

Drumknott looked thoughtful, briefly. "Well my Lord...I suppose. Would you like your meetings for the day, my lord?"

"No Drumknott...I think my schedule should be cleared until about noon, when I believe either Captain Carrot or the Commander will be back here for an update," Vetinari replied quietly, dismissing Drumknott with a wave of his hand.

Once alone, the Patrician sighed, hands gripping the windowsill until his knuckles went white as sheets. He didn't dare slam his fists down on the sill in anger. He didn't know what was going on...his contacts in Agatea were disappearing, no doubt into the underground where Moriarty was planning his war, his...conquest.

Suddenly the lord calmed, and sighed, sinking into his chair and shaking his head. His cane bounced several times on the carpet, absently and distantly. But in a perfectly even rhythm. He looked tired, and he felt it too. So, with a grunt as he stood, he slipped down the hall to his room, where he decided an hour or two's sleep wasn't out of the question.

**A/N Continued: Alright, I know Elena is stretching it a bit, HOWEVER!, we are never told the names of William de Worde's sisters, so I made one of them a Dark Clerk. And an Assassin. Just try to take her as an awesome character if you don't like what I've done to the de Worde family, ok?**


	3. Chapter 2: The Library

**Chapter 2: The Library**

"That bastard expects us to find anything in this library!?"

Alright, so Vimes had been inside once or twice...but he'd never really paid much attention to the sheer quantity of books in the Patrician's private library and records. Drumknott had left the Watch members earlier, and now Vimes was just angry.

"We'll never find anything in here! It's a mess!"

"Commander, I must correct you. It is _quite_ organized, you just have to observe a bit."

Vimes spun around at the cool, calm voice. While they were decent friends now, Vetinari's tendency to appear from seemingly nowhere drove Vimes up the walls and down the other side.

"Sir, what are you doing here?" he asked, looking annoyed. Vetinari gave him an infuriatingly puzzled look, obviously contrived to Vimes' eyes, but he let it pass.

"It _is_ my library Vimes. Besides, no Clerks would come down here to guide you and your men around. Only speaking in metaphorical terms, ladies." Vimes had noted Cheery's disgruntled noise of dislike, and her brief nod at the Patrician's polite correction of himself. It was funny, in a strange and possibly deadly way.

Of course, Vetinari could be a very good and giving person...sometimes. When it came to the Watch's eccentricities...and equal rights. Usually. Mostly with the first.

Still, the other Watch members decided that now sounded like a really good time for some lunch, and left the two men bickering in their own private way. One yelling, and the other standing very still and looking polite.

* * *

It was nearly three hours later.

The other Watch members had a pool going on how long Vimes could continue shouting at Vetinari. Angua had put in the option of 'forever,' while Cheery had submitted 'until his throat is too dry to let him talk.' And, amazingly enough, work was actually being done. They were now arguing (in their own special way) over the pieces of information they had dug up.

Still, the Watch was listening to each word said by both speakers, almost like a football match, or maybe that newfangled tennis.

"What do you mean my old case files got sent here when the old Watch house burned down!? It was burned. Down! There wasn't anything left, I checked!"

Vetinari shook his head, leaning back with his leather boots on the desk and looking immensely pleased with himself as he scanned a report. "Yes. After my Clerks had done their job and cleared out the paperwork."

Vimes snarled in anger, but snatched up another report, scanning it angrily before grabbing a quill-pen and dipping it in red ink to circle incorrect grammar and spelling. Vetinari flashed a lightning smile, and the tension in the room settled minutely. They were in fact friends now. Anyone who knew Vimes could see the tell-tale signs. Yes, he hated the man's profession, but somehow he'd grown to like the man the Patrician was, and their friendship, while seeming tenuous, was really quite strong.

"Vimes...I have a report here that specifically mentions him by name. It seems it was written hastily, and with blood."

Vimes went stiff, and he turned his head slowly. Angua could smell the fury, guilt, and sorrow already.

"Is it written on a tiny piece of paper, no bigger than an alchemist's stick-it note?" he breathed, swallowing. Vetinari looked up, eyes narrowed, before he turned briefly to the other Watch personnel.

"I'm quite sure that someone, somewhere in this city is committing a crime, yes? I think the Commander and I have this well in hand."

They practically ran for the door. When the Commander and the Patrician had their most private talks, it was best to be a long way away. Partly because either one would see you punished somehow very badly if they found out you had listened in.

Vetinari waited silently, and extremely patiently. In the years they had known each other, Vetinari had perfected his patience with Vimes when he knew that Vimes had something private to tell him. Vimes had done the same, and both knew that often the other didn't want anyone to know except those involved, no matter how close the friendship was.

Vimes leaned back, taking deep breaths that Vetinari recognized as his attempts to calm down from some memory. He looked on the verge of speaking, but the Patrician said nothing, setting the report on the table and folding his hands calmly on his chest.

And then, quietly, Vimes began to speak.

"It had my name on it, Sir, because I wrote the report."

Vetinari didn't move for some time, evaluating whether or not Vimes wanted his input or his silence. The commander seemed troubled, shifting uneasily and reverting to his habit of not looking the Patrician in the eye.

"Vimes. You don't have to tell me-"

"Yes. I do. You haven't met him, Sir. You haven't dealt with that mad gleam and that super intellect. Haven't watched him throw a bottle of something and kill a close friend."

Vetinari fell silent, but he removed his boots from the table and brought his chair closer, fingers steepling and he himself leaning forward to show his attentiveness.

"Alright then, tell me Vimes."

The Commander looked somehow forlorn, and Vetinari found himself wanting to prompt the man before he was rewarded with quiet words.

"I was not even twenty yet. My sergeant at the time, a Sergeant Peeler, we were on patrol. We'd been told some wizard was out, and so we were where we thought he wouldn't be. Like Fred always does now. Well...he thought that way too. We ran into him, and when we stopped to ask him questions, he just grinned, answering us calmly. And then Peeler, he asked what the loud noises from his basket were. I would have sworn it wasn't there before that, but there it was...And then he'd opened it, and my sergeant was dead, and that man was legging it up an alley. He was far thinner then any wizard I ever knew, looked almost sickly, but he was muscular enough...Peeler was covered in cuts, and I had some note paper. But no ink. So...I made do. Keel taught me to make do. Peeler was already dead, so I just used his blood. Obviously it worked," Vimes whispered, voice gruff and gravelly.

The Patrician nodded, but the man beneath that job sighed and stood, laying a hand on Vimes' shoulder as he stood beside him, feeling now the gentle tremors he had seen faintly.

"Vimes...Thank you. Such men are more dangerous even then Carcer. And, as I'm sure you have plans to do, should be brought to justice. Come, I think some of your officers can do this. I have other pressing matters and a few other things to do right now. Do get your paperwork done, though, Vimes, I cease to tire of wondering how many impossible things you request."

"You grant them Sir."

"I have no idea why, either."

Vimes grinned, and Vetinari flashed a smile before he limped a few steps, pausing and pressing a hand to his leg. Vimes moved forward, looking concerned.

"No...no, it just hurts, Vimes. Nothing too serious..."

"Sir, you're an idiot. Come on, take my hand." Vimes proffered his hand, the calloused fingers nearly straight as he offered his support. Almost hesitantly, Vetinari accepted, his own calloused fingers taking the hand and then his light, tall frame leaning on the shorter man as he limped along, the limp more pronounced then was normal.

As they approached the Oblong Office, the Patrician changed positions, and nearly fell onto the floor. An arm caught him easily, and hauled him back up, and a heavy sigh came from the vicinity around his shoulder height.

"Sir, are you going to be alright?"

"Perhaps, Sir Samuel, perhaps. Still, thank you. The Office, if you please, I do not have the luxury of days off for being sick or injured. Except when I'm poisoned or shot, apparently."

Vimes rolled his eyes at the man's dry smile, and helped him into the Oblong Office by a side door very few people noticed.

The empty office seemed to radiate it's user's traits, though this was only partially true. Vetinari the man had some important differences from his political and official personality.

As the taller man sat heavily (or as close as he came) in the chair, leg trembling underneath him, Vimes pulled up a chair from a corner, looking at his 'master' with unconcealed disappointment.

"Go on Sir Samuel...I'm sure you have things to do, other files to check, some criminal to deal with..."

"No Sir. Been pretty quiet recently, and the Clacks I sent to Commander Fortuna in Genua is going to take some time to get there. I have some time to kill, Sir."

"Commander Fortuna?"

Vimes shrugged and leaned back, lighting a cigar before he put it out again at Vetinari's sharp look. "She dealt with Moriarty in the old days too, Sir. A bit of a stubborn woman, but very much a good cop."

"Ah, yes. I believe I know who you are referring to. Miss Edana Fortuna, yes? The Head of the Genuan Watch, I believe. And your Clacks to 71-Hour Ahmed last night, I trust, also has had no answer yet?"

Vimes shrugged, considering lighting his cigar again. Vetinari's informants often reported to him the doings of Vimes, and Vimes himself understood that Vetinari's brain utilized that information as quickly as possible. The thing was, though, that as friends they both understood the other had their quirks, and Vetinari's memory for detail of any sort often was an annoyance to Vimes that he put up with. Just as Vimes's tendency to challenge his orders or insult nobles often made Vetinari a bit angry with him.

"Not as yet. But I have no definite proof it's even reached him yet, Sir. The man _is_ a wanted criminal over there," Vimes reminded the Patrician with a shrug.

"Ah yes, I was forgetting that minor incident. Still, worthy of respect," Lord Vetinari intoned, looking tired and pained, but only faintly. Vimes had learned the signs of such things only recently, but to him they were now quite obvious. But maybe that was because he'd been allowed In.

Of course, Vetinari had always been good at looking harassed, because that seemed to be his basic state of being, outside of amused, annoyed, or really angry.

Vimes started for the door, watching in the sheen of his helmet as the Patrician stiffly stood and walked to the window. He spent so much time there, it was hard to imagine he got any work done. But there were always piles of papers with corrections neatly printed in Vetinari's spidery, flowing, easily-read script. And often, Vimes found, in red ink.

"Sir Samuel?"

Sam turned his head and looked at the man, who's eyes were focused out on something in the sea.

"Sir?"

Vetinari looked almost pensive as he half-turned.

"Sir Samuel, there are two men who have been loitering by the Palace doors for some time. They look like hired muscle. Perhaps Moriarty's calling card? Do be careful stepping out."

Vimes nodded. "Yes Sir."

"Do enjoy your day, Sir Samuel."

"I'll try, Sir. No Guarantees." Then, without a further word of farewell, Vimes stepped out of the office, and nearly into Lord Rust.

"Get out of the way, Vimes! I demand to see Vetinari at once!"

Vimes felt the anger boil in his skin, and when he saw Drumknott, a red mark on his face shaped like a hand, the anger frothed.

"Lord Rust, did you strike his Lordship's secretary?" Vimes ground out, teeth grinding together. He could hear, in the Office, Vetinari standing and moving slowly over. He doubted anyone else could hear it, as the adrenaline and other hormones must have been sharpening his senses.

_Is this the day I get to arrest that **swine** of a 'gentleman?'_

"Ah, Lord Rust. Please, come inside. It's alright Vimes. You can take your hand off your sword."

Vimes glanced down when Rust had inched to the side and was looking at Vetinari. His knuckles were white on the sword, grasping it angrily. But that look on Lord Rust's face...it would warm him on cold nights, or cheer him on bad days.

"Drumknott, you alright?"

The clerk pulled himself up from the floor, looking flustered and shocked, but otherwise alright.

"Er...yes, I believe so, Sir Samuel."

"If it stings too much, get some ice from somewhere and press it to it. It might cause welts, so if it does, ice is required for the swelling."

Drumknott looked mildly surprised. 'Er...thank you, Sir Samuel. Really, I'm sure his Lordship will punish Lord Rust enough. You didn't have to risk your status for me."

"What kind of policeman only protects who he wants to defend?" Vimes snapped, and Drumknott shrugged.

"Many of your predecessors," he pointed out, before he scuttled into the maze of filing cabinets, looking nervous and intelligent as always.


End file.
